


the hitman and the profiler

by zhuzhubi



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Agent As Unsub, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Episode: s11e11 Entropy, Gen, Hitman Spencer Reid, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Murder, Role Reversal, Spencer Reid as Unsub, but its not just a rewrite with them reversed ok i wrote a new plot, profiler cat adams, season 11/season 12 era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhubi/pseuds/zhuzhubi
Summary: Spencer Reid - contract killer - is the bane of SSA Catherine Adams’ existence. He’s been taunting the BAU for far too long, and it’s really starting to make her look bad - after all, she’s the one who let him escape the first time.(or, a cat/reid role-reversal showdown)
Relationships: Spencer Reid & Cat Adams rivalry
Comments: 29
Kudos: 130





	1. prologue: the doctor

**Author's Note:**

> also on tumblr at zhuzhubii, if you prefer
> 
> i promise im working on enmity too, dont worry lol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more than just revenge
> 
> (went back and added in rossi because i forgot about him oops)

_“Even a contract killer can have victimology, a pattern of which (he’s) not aware” - Aaron Hotchner_

…

“He’s known as ‘the Doctor,’ his specialty is poison - one’s that either degrade too quickly to show up on a tox report, or are so new we can’t test for them. Cochran told us he didn’t know of anyone who’d ever met him in person. He runs a website where he picks and chooses potential hits. Apparently, he’s known in the contract killer world for not always taking the highest paying jobs,” Hotch speaks purposefully - as he always does - handing out files and leading us toward Garcia’s lair. 

“That goes against a hitman’s MO, they’re in it for the money over anything else,” Morgan fires back.

_Not if his motivations lie elsewhere._

“This guy isn’t. His MO is undetectable poison; he gets off on evading law enforcement. He thinks this is a game, that each hit is a puzzle to be solved. He doesn’t care about the money - he cares about the challenge. So if the prospective victim seems like they would be too easy to take out, the contract doesn’t interest him,” I postulate.

Hotch provides his assent, “I agree, let’s run with that. Garcia, what do you have on the website?”

“Well, I can tell you his code is perfectly streamlined, and I mean _perfectly_ , as in there are like barely any redundancies, and there are no notes to explain anything. _Nada_. You _never_ see that - even if you’re the only one who’ll ever see your code, not leaving notes makes it super hard to find anything if you need to go back and change it later. It’s like he can remember _every line and exactly where it is_ \- I just don’t see any other way he could work like this.”

“And, see this giant block of plaintext?” she continues, “This guy loves to hide in plain sight - it’s all of his records, _right here_ , in the code of his website. But he’s used some kind of cipher to encrypt it, so I can’t tell you what it says.”

“You can’t crack it, baby girl?”

“Ugh, no I can’t. If it was a computer cipher, sure _no problemo_ your resident tech genius could have had it cracked yesterday, but he used some kind of manual cipher to encrypt the plaintext before he inputted it. I’ve already tried every possible caesar cipher and run letter-frequency analysis, but no dice. Um, I can try a Vigenere cipher with the keyword ‘doctor?’” she starts typing on the computer, and the indecipherable plaintext turns into another seemingly random arrangement of letters, “sorry, no luck there either.” 

“Nah, this guy left his data in plain sight on purpose,” Morgan makes a face and crosses his arms, “That would be way too easy.”

_Plain sight. Puzzles, he loves puzzles. Wait, puzzles! That’s it!_

“He left it in plain sight _on purpose_. And he loves _puzzles_ ,” everyone turns to look at me, wondering where I’m going with this, “Who wants to bet he left some kind of clue to decrypting his information?”

“It would certainly feed his ego to know he left a clue, and still no one can crack it,” Hotch reasons.

“Garcia, are you sure there are no notes _anywhere_?” Tara leans over her shoulder as if to search for a clue, but her lack of skill in the coding department makes it a pointless gesture.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure…,” she looks through the code again, “Wait, maybe he left the redundancies on purpose! There’s a line of redundant code here, and two more, here,” she points to the screen, “and here! And nowhere else in the whole thing, they’ve gotta be on purpose!”

“What line numbers are they?” JJ fires out. 

“Um, let me just take a look…153, 600, and 3594.” 

“That’s gotta be it. Those numbers must mean something,” JJ speaks again, but it’s not necessary. We’re all on the same page now.

“Garcia, keep looking to see if you can find anything else. The rest of us - conference room, now.” 

And so we - sans Garcia, of course - head back to the conference room to deliberate. 

Tara makes a beeline for the white board and writes the numbers up, “alright, we have ten digits total, separated into three chunks. Everything this guy does is planned out and deliberate, he chose to split them up that way for a reason. So we’re looking at three numbers, which within themselves will stay the same, but can be arranged in any order. That’s six possible sequences.” 

“We’ve got ten numbers arranged in two threes and a four, could be a phone number,” Morgan, always one for simple solutions, points out.

_Morgan, I love you, but it’s obviously not a phone number. This guy is nowhere near ‘simple’. He wants to send anyone trying to access his data on a wild goose chase - there are no easy solutions here._

“Hmm, maybe,” I say, even though I’m sure he’s wrong, “but I don’t think it’s that easy. A phone number is the first ten-digit sequence that comes to mind. He wouldn’t have made it that obvious.” 

“Could it be an address?” 

_Come on, JJ, an address? Really? You’re grasping at straws._

“If it is, it’s gotta be encrypted somehow,” it’s Morgan again, but even he doesn’t seem to buy this theory. 

We all stare at the numbers as if they will suddenly announce their meaning. It feels like an exercise in futility, but we have no choice but to keep trying. 

_God, this guy is infuriating!_

“It’s an ISBN-10,” Tara announces suddenly.

_Oh my god, of course. Come on, Cat, get your head in the game!_

“A what?” Morgan asks, as if it’s not already obvious he doesn’t read much.

“An ISBN-10, a ten-digit International Standard Book Number. It’s a book.”

… 

“Okay my sweets, out of all those combinations the only one that’s an active ISBN number is 1533594600 - _The Canterbury Tales_ by Geoffery Chaucer.”

“Try ‘Canterbury,’ ‘Tales,’ and ‘Chaucer’ with the Vigenere cipher,” Hotch suggests, though he doesn’t seem too hopeful those keywords will work. I have to agree, there’s definitely one last puzzle here.

“Nope. Try again.” 

_Yep, just as I thought._

“Wait, The Canterbury Tales is a collection of stories about different characters. They’re all titled ‘The Knight’s Tale,’ ‘The Cook’s Tale,’ ‘The Merchant’s Tale’ and so on.”

_Tara, bless you, you’re a genius and you’re carrying this team right now. I love you._

“So?” once more, Morgan shows us that intellectual unsubs aren’t his forte. 

_He has his strengths, but they definitely don’t lie in code-breaking._

“That sounds an awful lot like ‘the Doctor,’ doesn’t it? Garcia, can you pull up a list of the tales? Okay, there,” Tara points to the screen,”‘The Physician’s Tale’ - try ‘Virginius,’ the name of the protagonist.”

“Still no dice, my friends.”

_Somehow ‘the Physician’ seems too obvious. But what else could it be?_

“Wait, go back to the list of tales. Look, ‘The Clerk’s Tale,’ I remember seeing it translated as ‘The Scholar’s Tale’ when I read it for a literature class in college.” 

_Oh, JJ I think you’re onto something._

I complete her thought, “it’s not ‘doctor’ as in a medical practitioner, it’s ‘doctor’ and in ‘ _doctorate_.’”

“Garcia, what’s the clerk’s name?” Hotch, ever the pragmatist, refocuses us on the cipher.

“Um, Walter. He’s the Clerk of Oxenford, married to a woman named Griselda.” 

“Try ‘Walter’ and ‘Oxenford,’ then ‘WalterClerkofOxenford’ if those don’t work. He wouldn’t’ve used the wife’s name.” 

“Got it! A Vigenere cipher with the keyword ‘WalterClerkofOxenford’ gives us this,” Garcia reveals the plaintext, now deciphered. 

_Oh man. This guy’s been busy._

“Oh my good lord, that’s a lot of victims.” 

“He’s good, there’s a reason his name gets around on the darknet.” 

“We cracked his code. We’re better.”

_At least I hope we are._

…

“These three hits - two men and a woman looking for their spouses to ‘pass naturally’ so they could collect life insurance,” Tara and I present the files to Hotch, confident we’ve found the Doctor’s weak point.

“And? Wanting to kill a spouse is the oldest motivation in the book,” Hotch looks at us with skepticism, but he hasn’t yet heard the full story.

“All of the spouses had pretty severe mental illnesses - one with bipolar I, one with schizoaffective disorder, and one with schizophrenia - all with multiple inpatient admissions and a hefty regimen of SSRIs, mood stabilizers, and antipsychotics,” Tara continues, “He double crossed his clients, but then it gets _weird_. These kills must be personal.” 

_She shoots…_

“How so?”

“I had Garcia look into the spouses - they or their caretakers all made inquiries about receiving ‘mysterious deposits’ from a series of offshore bank accounts in the months after ‘the Doctor’ killed their partners - the deposits all add up to exactly $50,000.”

_Aaaand she scores!_

“He gave the money he took from his clients before he double-crossed them back to the spouses. This is about more than just revenge, he cares about them on some level,” now Hotch is on board, bringing his own inferences to the table.

“And that’s how we draw him out. I pose as a woman who wants her schizophrenic husband dead.” 

“Adams, we don’t know that’ll work,” Hotch is back to skepticism.

“We don’t know that it won’t. Look, with these types of clients he doesn’t just care about double-crossing them, he wants to help the spouses in his own deluded way,” I argue, “Even if he suspects it’s a trap, he won’t be able to resist showing up. He can’t take the risk that it _is_ a real client; he can’t let the spouses die.” 

Hotch takes a moment to consider the options - brow furrowed, jaw tight - before saying those magic words, “initiate contact. Set up the meeting somewhere public, but controlled - if you can get him to agree to a bar or restaurant that would be ideal.”

…

“He told me his name is ‘Spence’, probably short for Spencer. Cross reference that with mentally ill parents - probably the mother.” 

“Not enough, lioness, keep it coming.”

_Wow, there’s a lot of Spencers with mentally ill mothers in the US._

“Based on the care he has for the sick spouses, I’m guessing she’s still alive. That means the father failed to kill her. Add in fathers who went away for attempted murder or conspiracy to murder.” 

The list of possibles shrinks significantly, “okay, okay we’re getting somewhere.”

Rossi jumps in, “Look at foster kids who were taken in by the state due to a mentally ill mother - she might have even been declared _non compos mentis_. It’s also possible she taught English or literature before she was too sick. _The Canterbury Tales_ doesn’t seem like something he would pull out of nowhere.”

“Bingo!” a picture of a slight white man with messy brown hair appears on the screen, “Meet Spencer Reid, 34 - although he certainly doesn’t look it. Born and raised in _sin city_ , Las Vegas. His father, William, was convicted of attempted murder back in 1991 and did ten years before he was paroled and subsequently dropped off the map. 

His mother, Diana, was a Professor of Medieval literature for a few years before she was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia in her early thirties. She was declared _non compos mentis_ and permanently lost custody of Spencer when he was thirteen, two years after William tried to murder her. She’s currently a ward of the state in Nevada, and is court ordered to reside in a half-way house there. It looks like Spencer’s been trying to get guardianship of her since he turned 18, but all his appeals have been denied.” 

“What happened to him after his mother lost custody?” JJ asks.

“He was taken into foster care - ,” Garcia clicks through the records, “oh wow, he’s a smart cookie - graduated high school back in 1992 when he was only _twelve_. It’s hard to accurately measure intelligence in children, but he was tested at one point and they estimated his IQ at well over 160. He’s a literal genius. He was _thirteen_ and a freshman at CalTech when his mother was declared _non compos mentis_ , and he was taken in by the state and moved to a group home. Poor kid never went back to school after that.”

“Any run-ins with the law?” it’s Morgan this time.

“Um, he’s been picked up on suspicion of _possession with intent to sell_ a few times? They never found anything illegal on him though, so he was never charged.”

“He might’ve been cooking, not selling,” Rossi suggests, “He cooks the stuff, makes the drop, and leaves - barely spends any time out in public with the product. Drugs explain how he got a foot-in-the-door with contract killing, too - high demand for hits in the drug business.” 

“Garcia, can you access his appeals for guardianship? Why were they denied?” Tara questions. 

‘Let’s see…the judge wrote in her log ‘ _the son appeared in court obviously high on drugs, and is therefore clearly unfit for guardianship_.’ She even mentions that she could ‘ _see track marks on his wrists when his shirt shifted.’_ Sounds like he was ‘testing’ the product.” 

_A drug problem? I wouldn’t have imagined someone who values their intelligence above all else would use something notorious for muddling your thoughts. There’s gotta be some other motivation behind that._

“We can definitely use that. Even if he’s since gotten clean, being a junkie is a sore spot - it’s the reason he can’t get guardianship of his mother,” JJ suggests.

“And the fact that he was forced to give up on higher education, too - he feels like he deserves a PhD or three, but doesn’t even have a Bachelors,” Morgan reasons, “Adams, you should make a point to call him _Mister_ Reid - emphasize his lack of formal education.” 

“Alright, it’s time to get wired up,” Hotch brings the deliberation to a close, “Adams, if he thinks you’re a client, he’ll either try to lure you to a secondary location, or slip you poison somehow. He’s from Vegas and he’s a professional poisoner, if you’re not paying close attention to his hands, you won’t notice him slip you something. Watch him closely, and don’t touch your face.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. And if he realizes it’s a trap?” 

“Then you’ve got a restaurant full of agents to back you up.” 

_Let’s hope that’s enough._

…

_As I donned my dress and wire, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from drifting to our stories and how similar they were. The father murders the mother (or at least tries to), and the kid ends up in foster care. I lucked out with a good home that kept me until I was 18, and continued to support me even after. I call the Stevens couple Mom and Dad; I visit for the holidays every year. They send me birthday presents. I’m theirs, sans official adoption. Spencer Reid wasn’t so lucky. He landed in a group home that got shut down years later for violence against children. I can only imagine the world of pain that was his teenage years._

_He was a good kid - perfect grades and bright compliments from teachers, for his demeanor and academic skills alike. They wrote the same things about him that I always heard as a child. It was like we were two sides of the same coin. For me, the murder of my mother pushed me into law enforcement. For him, it spurred a search for vengeance. I couldn’t help but wonder how I would have turned out if I hadn’t gotten so lucky with the Stevens family. If I would’ve been the one seeking retribution instead._


	2. part 1: the date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i don’t need a gun to be in control here, ssa catherine adams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: cat and reid use words like “crazy” and “insane” to describe mental illness a few times - this does not reflect my own personal beliefs, rather it is two characters using buzz words to try to get a rise out of one another

_“I was thinking about entropy. It’s the thermodynamic measure of the degradation of matter and energy in the universe.” - Spencer Reid_

… 

“Catherine?”

“I go by Cat, actually. And you’re Spencer?”

“That I am. May I sit?”

“Oh yeah, of course,” I huff out a nervous breath, “sorry, I’ve just never really…”

“Done this before?” he finishes my thought as he situates himself, “don’t worry about it, I still get nervous sometimes too.”

“Really,” it’s not really a question because he’s clearly lying.

_Although I’d be the one lying if I said I wasn’t actually a little bit nervous._

“No.”

_Oh wow, dropping the charade already are we?_

“So, Cat. Tell me about yourself,” he exudes a genuine confidence I didn’t expect from someone who profiles as a loner, “How’s your husband treating you?”

“Um, he’s, you know, crazy as always. But, uh, I’d rather not talk about him if that’s ok?”

“No, please go on, tell me. He’s on, what, olanzapine, aripiprazole, clozapine, one of those I’m assuming?”

“Y-yeah he’s on Zyprexa,” I answer, and then ask tentatively, “Um, so how do we do this?”

“And how long had you been married before he really got sick?” he continues as if I didn’t ask him a question.

“About-uh-about two years,” I stutter, then continue in a hushed voice, “Should we, um, should we talk about price, or…?”

“Woah, kitten, don’t jump the gun. Let’s be clear about this. What exactly are we discussing here?” 

_He already knows, of course he does. He’s just toying with me._

“You know.”

“Know what? You’re gonna have to spell it out for me Miss Catherine, I’m not sure I understand.”

“I-,” I clear my throat, then drop to a whisper, “I want to have my husband killed.”

“Mmhmm, now that’s more like it,” he settles back into his chair, at ease with his position of power in the conversation, “Tell me again how long you’ve been married?”

“Four, uh, four years.”

“Hmph, that’s two years dealing with the delusions, and the paranoia, and the craziness before you couldn’t take it anymore, am I right?”

“I guess-I guess you could say that.”

“I guess I could. There’s just one little problem here.”

_Oh no._

“You’re not married, SSA Catherine Adams.”

 _“Everybody hold. He’s got something planned, we have to step carefully,”_ I hear Hotch’s voice over my earpiece, but I’m completely focused on the man before me.

“You can tell the agent coming over here he doesn’t need to pretend to wait our table anymore. And let your buddy over there,” he motions with his head towards an agent to his left, “know it’s painfully obvious he’s wearing an ankle holster if he keeps looking at it like that. _Come on_ , I expected FBI agents to be better than this.”

_This guy, ugh._

“You don’t like pleasantries, do you Mr. Spencer Reid?”

“Ahh, Kitty-Cat, now that’s more like it. Now tell me why we’re really here.”

_Trying to get a rise out of me, are you Mr. Reid?_

“We’re here because you’re a contract killer.”

“No, tell me why we’re _really_ here, kitten.”

 _“Give him what he wants,”_ says Hotch.

“We’re here because you accepted a contract to kill someone on our team.”

“Hello Miss Garcia,” I hear her gasp in my ear, “Did you have a fun time with my website? I knew this was a setup as soon as I saw you poking around in my code. You really should be more careful about that, Penelope.”

“If you knew this was a setup, why come at all?” _got’cha_ , “I think it’s because you couldn’t resist, you couldn’t take the chance that it was real and let someone’s mentally ill spouse die at the hands of another hitman.”

_No, he didn’t react to that. Shit!_

“I do my homework, like I’m sure you guys have. Know all my deepest darkest secrets, don’t you? But then again, I also know yours, so. I guess fair is fair Miss Catherine Adams who’s daddy killed her mommy when she was just a _wittle girl,_ ” my unease becomes genuine, “Did you cry when your little girlfriend got abducted by a serial killer right under your nose? What was her name, Laurie, no, Lacy? No that’s not right either. Lindsey! That’s it isn’t it? Poor little lesbian Lindsey lying limp in the leaves. You should have pretended to have a _wife_ , Kitty-Cat, maybe then it would have been more believable.”

_“Keep calm, Adams. He wants a reaction out of you, don’t give him that.”_

“You have a thing against lesbians?”

“Not at all. I’m bisexual, actually. Didn’t know that, did you?”

_I didn’t, but I’m not surprised._

“Not exactly the type of thing that usually comes up in a deep background. You never said why you showed up.”

“Oh! Yes, my apologies. I got sidetracked,” he takes a breath, obviously for dramatic effect, “I wanted to congratulate the BAU on solving my puzzle. No one else has even come close, although I suppose they didn’t have a team of seven working on it. Who was it that figured out the ISBN number? I’d really like to meet them in person.”

_“Get him back on track, Adams.”_

“Cut the crap, Reid. What’s stopping me from arresting you right now?”

“Nothing at all. But you wanna hear what I have to say, and that’s not gonna happen if you arrest me.”

I hear an argument over my earpiece.

 _“He’s just playing with us. We should just arrest him,”_ says Morgan.

 _“We need to hear him out, there’s something else going on here. Keep him talking, Adams,”_ says Hotch, and I have to agree.

“You walked unarmed into a restaurant you knew would be full of agents who all have authorization to kill you if necessary. I thought you were supposed to be a genius.”

“I am a genius, and nobody ever said I’m not armed.”

_What?_

“Are you? Armed, that is. Honestly, I expected you to pull a gun on me under the table.”

“I don’t need a gun to be in control here, SSA Catherine Adams,” he says simply, as if it’s obvious.

_Why is he so confident? What does he have planned?_

“What happens now, Mr. Reid?”

“We’re going to play a game, Kitty-Cat. It’s called ‘we talk, then you watch me walk out of here.’”

“How does that work? You have no weapon and no leverage, you’re delusional if you think you’re getting out of this, Spencer.”

“Who figured out the ISBN number, Catherine?” again, he ignores my question. 

_“Tara?”_ it’s Hotch again.

_“I got it.”_

I see Tara moving towards us. She stops by my side and remains standing, crossing her arms and staring Reid down.

“Dr. Tara Lewis, I thought it would be you. Congratulations!” he seems genuinely excited someone solved his puzzle, “I love a good scholar, Dr. Lewis. Didn’t it feel good to be the one that solved it? I love always being the smartest one in the room.”

“It was a team effort,” she deadpans.

“Yeah, but come on. It was mostly you, wasn’t it? Take credit for your work, Dr. Lewis, I’m complimenting you. Go on, thank me.”

Tara grits her teeth and spits out, “thank you.”

“Good girl,” he’s clearly done talking to her and directs his attention back to me, “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Tell me about Lindsey, Kitty-Cat.”

_No way, you bastard._

“Why should I, Reid?”

“Because I asked nicely.”

_Oh really? Did you now?_

“Lindsey was my girlfriend. We were together for three years, then she died. That’s it.”

_Please leave it there, please please._

“No, I don’t think it is. Why couldn’t you pretend to have a wife, kitten?’

_Damn it._

“All the clients you double crossed were straight-”

“Yeah but that’s just statistics,” he interrupts me, “I think you had another reason beyond, you know, upholding heteronormativity. Lindsey wasn’t just your girlfriend, was she?”

_You win._

“No. She was my fiancé.”

I hear sounds of surprise in my ear. We were engaged for a long time - months, actually. It was our little secret, something we had for ourselves. And after she was gone, I couldn’t bear to tell anyone. 

“And you couldn’t bring yourself to corrupt the memory of what never was. Because cruel, cruel fate took her away from you. And you like to pretend she was your wife. Bet you regret waiting on the wedding, don’t you kitten?”

_Yes. God, yes._

“Every day,” I take a breath, “But we’re not here to talk about me, we’re here to talk about you.”

He rolls his eyes, “okay, Catherine, I’ll bite. Ask away.”

_Let’s see if you can take what you dish out, you sonofabitch._

“How did it feel when the courts denied your guardianship of your mother because you’re a junkie?” I channel my anger into the word ‘junkie,’ and the malice it comes out with is completely genuine.

“Oh that’s a low blow, Kitty-Cat, playing dirty are we?”

_You’re one to talk._

“Answer the question, Reid.”

“It hurt. But that’s in the past, I’ve learned to accept my mistakes. I shouldn’t have taken a hit before I walked in there, I’ll admit that was a dumb move,” but he is so unphased by his own words it’s unsettling - we profiled that he would be upset about his mother, but there is no indication of that in his demeanor. 

_Come on, there’s gotta be a reaction in you somewhere, Reid. Let something slip._

“And your mother is stuck in some state-run facility because of it. For the rest of her life,” I say, in hopes it’ll strike a nerve.

“I knew you were gonna bring this up before I even left my apartment, you can’t rattle me SSA Catherine Adams.”

_But you let something slip._

_“Garcia, you got that? Start looking for the apartment,”_ Hotch again.

_“I’m on it, sir.”_

“Are you still using? Is that cardigan just to make you look unassuming, or do you have some telling marks you’d rather stay hidden?”

_He’s definitely not high. You’re floundering, Cat, get ahold of yourself._

He tilts his head, as if to chastise me, “come on, you’re a profiler. You can do better than that. Do I look high to you? I’m a smart guy, Kitty-Cat, I keep my head clear nowadays. I found something more _fun_ than shooting up. I think it’s my turn to ask a question. How did it feel when your daddy got away with killing your mom?”

“You tell me, Reid.”

“Ah, but my mom’s not dead, is she?”

“You still ended up in foster care.”

“So did you.”

_Touché._

“You’re telling me it didn’t feel like he got away with it, even though she’s still alive? That almost getting murdered didn’t drive her more insane than she already was?”

“Maybe it did. But I love my mother, Catherine. I’m happy she’s still here,” he makes an obnoxious motion with his eyebrows, “Can’t say the same about yours, though.”

_God, I hate this man._

“I loved my mother too. But my foster family took good care of me, helped me through it. Yours, on the other hand, took everything away from you. Your mom, your education. How did it feel when they made you drop out of college? CalTech at thirteen, that’s no small feat. But you don’t even have a bachelor’s degree, do you ‘Doctor.’”

_There it is, the slightest little twitch. He definitely didn’t like that._

“I don’t need a degree to tell me I’m a genius,” his eyes have darkened in a way they haven’t before. He’s tense in his seat, instead of relaxed. 

_“Keep pushing,”_ says Hotch.

“You know, I was wondering why you double crossed those clients. Is it because their spouses remind you of mommy-dearest, or because you want to kill daddy and you can’t find him?”

His confidence returns. I’ve definitely said the wrong thing, and I have the feeling he’s about to let me know exactly what it was.

“Interesting theory, Miss Adams, there’s just one little flaw.”

“And what’s that?” I maintain my cool exterior even though I know I’ve lost the upper hand. We’ve missed something.

“How do you know I didn’t find my father? Miss Garcia couldn’t find him, so you assume I couldn’t either? I love a good paper trail, kitten, nothing gets past me.”

I can hear the frantic _tap tap tap_ of keys over my earpiece - Garcia must be trying to track down Reid’s father.

“So you killed him?” I say, but know it can’t be the case. He’s too spiteful, still.

“No. He was already dead when I got to him. An aneurysm.”

_Ah. A painless, instant death. Not exactly what Reid had in mind._

“You still didn’t get to kill daddy, then. He got what most people would call a merciful death. He didn’t suffer like I’m sure you wanted him to.”

“Maybe not, but he’s dead, and that’s good enough,” he takes a breath, “Now, Miss Adams, I’m sure you’re dying to know how I plan on getting out of this. I think I’ve made you wait long enough, go on, make a guess.”

_I am dying to know how you expect to escape. You came in unarmed, and you don’t have backup._

“You don’t have an accomplice,” I say, as if thinking out loud, “you’re way too much of a control-freak for that. You didn’t change venues at the last minute, so you don’t have a room full of civilians to hold hostage.”

“You contacted me three days ago, Kitty-Cat. I’ve had a lot of time to prepare,” he smirks, and it’s absolutely infuriating. 

“Prepare what, Reid?” I ask, leaning forward to crowd him a little.

“The leverage I don’t have, according to you,” he leans forward too, “I told you I don’t need a gun to be the one in control here.”

“Stop beating around the bush,” I’m growing impatient, “get to the point.”

He just smiles.

“I set up bombs filled with Sarin,” he glances at his watch, “and by my calculations you have just under ten minutes until they’re set to go off.”

 _“Start a search of the premises,”_ orders Hotch, speaking to the other agents.

“We can have this building cleared in under ten minutes, Spencer.”

His lips twitch, the ghost of another smirk.

“Making assumptions again, Kitty-Cat?” he leans back in his chair, “I never said they were here. So you’re gonna let me walk out of here, and if I don’t see anyone tailing me, I’ll disarm the bombs. Or, you can arrest me and take responsibility for all the people who die.”

_“Keep the search going, we don’t know if he’s telling the truth or not.”_

“Why should we believe you?”

He continues as if he hasn’t heard me, “I left a little hint on my website that’ll tell you where to find them. I suggest you get on that, Miss Garcia, it took you guys much longer than ten minutes to solve my last puzzle. And remember, you have to solve it and get to the bombs, and only then can you disarm them. If you think you can do that in ten minutes, by all means - _arrest me_. But if you don’t, well. Then I think this is goodbye, kitten.”

 _“He’s not lying about the hint,”_ Garcia says with the bite of nervousness, _“There’s some new code that was added about 30 minutes before he entered the restaurant.”_

“We have no reason to believe you planted bombs.”

“You have no reason to believe I didn’t. I certainly have the skillset to do so. Can you really take that risk, Aaron Hotchner?” he addresses Hotch directly, knowing it’s ultimately his call.

_“Stand down. Let him go.”_

He can see it on my face, and the infuriating little smirk returns, “That’s what I thought,” he starts getting up to leave, “Don’t worry about Miss Garcia, I need her alive if I’m gonna keep playing with you guys. And I’ll take care of the contract out on her, no need to worry about that. I, for one, had a fantastic evening, Kitty-Cat. _‘So long, and thanks for all the fish!*’_ I hope we can do this again someday.”

And he walks out the door, leaving a restaurant full of humiliated agents behind.

… 

_His puzzle was not too difficult to solve this time, but still took us much longer than ten minutes. When we arrived at the location of the ‘bombs,’ we indeed found containers that appeared on the outside to be bombs. But we opened them to find only handwritten notes reading, “got ya!” inside. He had simultaneously shown us that he could have placed bombs if he wanted to, but preferred out bluffing us and rubbing it in our faces._

_Of all the failures I’d faced in my life, watching Spencer Reid walk out of that restaurant was the one I felt most acutely. The words he spoke as he left filled me with a new kind of dread that not even the worst of cases had been able to invoke. I knew he would continue to kill. There was no other outcome that could arise from letting him go. But with the taunt - the promise to “play” - I was filled with an awareness of his fear of boredom. No longer would accepting contracts satisfy him intellectually. We had given him a new puzzle to solve - evading us - and he would go on to kill many more, but this time in our name. In my name._

_I couldn’t help but feel like it was my fault. He had come into the restaurant prepared - more prepared than we could have imagined him to be - but I should have been able to anticipate his preparedness. He was an impeccable liar, but I should have been able to see through him._

_I made many mistakes during our first encounter, despite how comfortable I usually am during an interrogation. The degree to which he was at ease in a room full of people authorized to kill him was unsettling, as was the fact that he walked in unarmed. Beyond his incredible wit and intelligence, that fact that he had deliberately orchestrated the situation so as to rub his ultimate victory in our faces rattled me, as much as I hate to admit it. It felt as though he was ten steps ahead the whole time, as if he’d called my bluffs before I even made them. He was self-aware to a degree I had never seen in an unsub before - so aware of his faults, in fact, that they could not be used against him._

_He blindsided us so completely; there was not a single second in which he didn’t have the upper hand. And watching him walk away, unable to do anything to stop him, I was struck with the feeling that we would never catch him. That he would toy with us for a while, then one day grow bored and drop off the map. That he would walk free in the end._

_––––––––_

_*quote from “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” by Douglas Adams - my second favorite book of all time (behind only “Flowers for Algernon” by Daniel Keyes)_


	3. part 2: fish in the sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> took care of mr. fishie for you, kitty-cat

_“Dance with me.” - Spencer Reid_

…

The BAU is a flurry of activity - all hands on deck trying to find Reid - full of agents fuming after being so utterly humiliated. 

Hotch is even more stern than usual, fires out quick deductions, “Reid doesn’t profile as a liar - he gets off on outsmarting us, and lying would feel like cheating to someone like him - so we have to assume he was telling the truth about ‘taking care of the contract out on Garcia.’ We need to figure out who commissioned the hit and get there before he does. He’s probably planning to drop off the map for a while to regroup, but he’ll need to take out his client before that. I need you all to leave your pride about being outsmarted at the door - we’re on the clock. He’s going to want to disappear as soon as possible.”

Once he’s done, Tara immediately turns to Garcia and asks, “can you think of _anyone_ who might want to hurt you?”

Garcia’s shaking her head, eyes wide, “No! I mean, I guess there might be some people who don’t like what I did during my _Black Queen_ days, but that was more than a decade ago! And you guys know I never did anything bad, _per se_ \- just a teensy-weensy bit illegal sometimes! I only hacked bad people!”

_And those ‘bad people’ didn’t appreciate being exposed very much._

Tara responds, “We’re gonna need a list of every hack you did. Focus on large companies first - businesses that had more to lose - and large players at those companies. Commissioning a contract killer is a pretty drastic step to take, and it’s expensive too. Whoever our unsub is, they still have money even after the loss.”

Rossi jumps in, “Before you do that, did you end up finding his apartment? He’s not dumb enough to go back there after letting it slip, but it’s worth going to check if he kept any kind of paper records for contracts he hadn’t completed yet.”

“And we can profile his apartment, too,” I suggest, “I get the feeling there’s more to this guy than he let on.”

_There’s definitely more to this guy than what we saw._

“Yes, I found it. I’ll send the address to your phones now.”

“Alright, Rossi, Adams, Morgan - head to the apartment,” Hotch orders, “JJ and Lewis - you stay here with me to sort through Garcia’s records. Look for a secondary stressor, likely in the past year. Garcia’s right - that was over a decade ago, they might have been holding on to anger all this time, but something recent must have pushed him over the edge.”

…

It’s an older building - wooden stairs and no elevator. Reid’s apartment is on the second floor - #23 - and right by the stairwell. Everything about it appears completely normal.

_These are the worst type of unsubs - the ones who pass for ‘normal.’_

“Spencer Reid, FBI!” Morgan says, just to follow protocol because we already know he’s not inside.

He’s just kicked open the door when -

“What’re you doing!?” say an older woman, emerging from the apartment next to Reid’s.

_Oh no._

“Ma’am, this is part of a federal investigation, we’re gonna need you to stay back,” Morgan approaches her and flashes his badge.

“You’re investigating Dr. Reid? He’s the nicest man I’ve ever met, he couldn’t possibly have done anything wrong - you’ve got the wrong guy!”

I share a look with Morgan, then pull up a picture of Reid on my phone, “is this Dr. Reid?”

She gives a confused nod, “yes, that’s him. He’s the sweetest young man - helps me with my groceries whenever he has the time. He’s a busy man, though. Did you know he has multiple PhDs? He’s always telling me about his research, but it all just goes straight over my head.”

I take a breath to collect myself, wanting to break the news gently, “ma’am, Spencer Reid doesn’t have a doctorate, he doesn’t even have a Bachelor’s. He’s been lying to you; he’s not who you think he is. Can we go inside and talk?” I motion towards her still-open door.

She blinks at me a few times in shock, then says, “yes, yes I suppose that would be alright,” before turning to go inside in a daze. 

I turn back to Morgan and Rossi, but before I can say anything Morgan says, “Go, we’ll get started on the apartment. See what she knows about him,” so I send a short nod in his direction and move to follow the neighbor. 

She’s seated herself at the kitchen table, smoothing and re-smoothing the newspaper. I gently pull the door shut behind me and take the seat next to her.

“What’s he being charged with?”

_You don’t want to know._

“Ma’am - ”

“Mrs. Cavenaugh.”

“Mrs. Cavenaugh, Spencer Reid is a very dangerous man - “

_That’s an understatement._

“What is he being charged with?”

I consider refusing to tell her for a moment, before deciding it will only add to her anxiety, “multiple counts of murder and conspiracy to murder, as well as evading law enforcement.”

Her face goes white, “oh god. I’ve let that man in my home - I’ve baked him cookies!”

_Poor woman._

“Mrs. Cavenaugh,” I’m trying to be as gentle as I can, but we’re still on the clock, “I know this is a huge shock, but I need to ask - do you know of anywhere Reid might have gone? Did he ever speak of any place in particular - even if he just described it?”

She pauses for a moment, then shakes her head, “Um, no um. He talked about visiting his mother, I think in Nevada - he’s mentioned being from Las Vegas once or twice? He talked about her being unwell a few times - oh god, was that even true? Was he just trying to get me to trust him by telling me that - “

_He’s not secretive about his mother._

“All of that was true. There’s every indication that he genuinely cares for his mother, I doubt he lied to you about any of that. He lied about his education because he wishes he has those degrees, not because he was trying to deceive you. Now, are you sure he never said anything about another place - maybe somewhere he went to think or be alone?”

_Please, please know something._

“He went to the library a lot. Dr - ,” she catches herself, “I mean Mr. Reid never said anything about it, but he was always bringing home books. He reads incredibly quickly - so quickly I didn’t think he was actually reading the first time I saw it. I found it a little odd because most young folks now-a-days read on their tablets or computers, and I’d imagine it would have been easier for him to read that way with how many books he got through every week. Other than that I can’t think of anything. He never talked about any friends or coworkers - no one except for the few times he mentioned his mother.”

_I wonder if you and his mother were the only people he talked to outside of his ‘work.’_

“Thank you, that was very helpful,” I hand her my card, “Here, call me if you recall anything that you think might be important. It’s unlikely Reid will return here, but if he does, you need to contact the authorities without letting him know you know who he really is, okay?”

She takes my card, still slow with shock, and nods. I make eye-contact with her to make sure she really understood me before exiting the apartment. 

The first thing that strikes me about Reid’s apartment is, “woah, that’s a lot of books.”

_Mrs. Cavenaugh wasn’t exaggerating when she said he reads a lot._

“Yeah, this guy practically has his own library,” Morgan replies, “there’re some actual library books on the kitchen table, too.”

“The neighbour mentioned him reading a lot - she said he always reads hard copies,” I say, looking over his collection.

“That clashes with his tech-savviness. I would have imagined him reading on his laptop - speaking of, it’s nowhere to be found. He must’ve taken it with him.”

“You think he came back here?”

 _Or he planned ahead - he really_ did _know it was a set-up._

“No, there’s some clothing missing too,” he responds, shaking his head, “I think he packed up the essentials before the meet and stashed them somewhere, probably a car. Garcia was able to track him on CCTV for less than half a mile before he vanished - he had an escape route planned, could’ve easily left a car somewhere to escape in.”

_He was ready for us, that’s for sure._

“Even if he hadn’t let it slip about the apartment, we would’ve found it soon enough and he knew that,” I say dryly. 

“Yeah. Rossi thinks he has a secret compartment around here somewhere, but we haven’t been able to find one yet.”

_Oh yeah, I’m sure he has one somewhere._

“Have you checked the books?” I suggest, “If we’re looking for a journal he could’ve hidden one by switching out the covers.”

He gestures to the literal wall of bookcases, “this guy’s gotta have at least a couple hundred books - that could take us hours. And wouldn’t he have taken his records with him anyway?”

_Not if he knew we couldn’t read them - a jab at our intelligence._

“You two,” Rossi calls from what I presume is the bedroom, “get over here. I’ve got something.”

As soon as Morgan and I enter he motions to the open drawer of the bedside table, “we’ve got an encrypted journal - explains why he felt comfortable leaving it behind - and this box. Take a look inside.”

_Drugs? No - they’re all empty._

“Empties? Are we sure he isn’t still using?” Morgan asks.

_He’s definitely not…oh!_

I shake my head, “no syringes. He kept these as a reminder of what the drugs cost him. He’s good at masking his emotions - a lot of adults who were abused as children are - calling him a junkie definitely affected him more than he let on. I don’t think he was as confident as he appeared.”

_When he said he had time to prepare he wasn’t talking about the fake bombs - he was talking about preparing himself for what he knew we would try to use against him._

“You sure about that? That guy was cocky as hell,” says Morgan with skepticism. 

This time I nod, “I think it’s a defense mechanism - he puts on a show of arrogance because he’s actually unsure of himself. He told his neighbor he had _multiple_ PhDs - he lies about being in a position of power because he feels weak.”

Rossi bags up a few of the vials for testing, then glances around the bedroom, “see anything else helpful?”

We start pulling open drawers, glancing inside the closet and dresser. There’s definitely a significant amount of clothing missing - he has no plans of coming back. 

“He took all of his socks with him,” I notice, “I’m fairly certain he was wearing socks at the restaurant, but there aren’t any here. I don’t know how _helpful_ that is, but it’s certainly interesting.”

“There aren’t any pictures,” says Rossi, “for someone who idolizes his mother so much, that’s strange. I bet he packed them - _definitely_ not planning on coming back, then.”

We move back into the main living space, then into the (sparsely furnished where the rest of the apartment is cluttered) kitchen.

“All he has in the fridge is take-out. Not even any staple foods in the pantry - he really doesn’t like cooking. Wait,” something - a slight variation in the wood shelving - catches my eye, “hold on there’s something in here.”

Morgan and Rossi peer over my shoulder as a pry a false bottom off of a kitchen drawer.

“Well there’s the secret compartment,” Morgan says needlessly, “Looks like it could be his poisons - we should bag them and take them to the lab for testing.”

_No duh, Morgan._

“Interesting choice to keep his poisons in the kitchen - seems risky,” says Rossi, thinking out loud, “probably another assurance to himself of his skill - _look at me, I’m so good at my job I can keep poison in my kitchen and come out unscathed_.”

“Or it could just be practical,” counters Morgan, “I doubt he uses anything in this room except the fridge and the secret compartment.”

_That’s true. This is one of the saddest kitchens I’ve ever seen - and I burned pasta one time while I was boiling it!_

Just then, Rossi’s cell rings, “Hotch, you’re on speaker.”

“ _Anything at the apartment?_ ” his voice crackles over the cellphone speakers.

“We’ve got an encrypted journal here that might tell us where he’s going,” Rossi replies, “but I doubt we’ll be able to crack it in time - I don’t think this one is a puzzle, he’s used some kind of mathematical encoding method, I’m pretty sure this is in hexadecimal.”

_That’s not right._

“No it’s not, look,” I point to the pages, “he used digits zero through nine and letters A, B, and C. Hexadecimal goes through F - this is base 13. Hexadecimal is commonly used for programming and encryption, that would make sense. But base 13 doesn’t have any kind of common application like that - it might be his clue. That’s probably the key to cracking it.”

_It may be the key, but it unfortunately brings us no closer to the solution._

“Well either way, I think our best bet is still profiling the client due to the time restraint,” Morgan thinks practically, “You guys get anywhere with that, Hotch?”

_“We have a long list of possibles - apparently unethical business practices are a good indicator for failure in the long term, in all aspects of life.”_

“Yeah, I think that goes without saying,” Rossi huffs out a dry laugh.

_“If you guys are finished at the apartment, we need you back here. Fresh eyes might help us narrow it down.”_

“You got it, boss.”

…

When we arrive back at the BAU, the remainder of the team is hovering in Garcia’s office as she runs background checks on shady businessmen.

_Woah, I knew you were good, but damn Garcia._

“Baby Girl, that’s alotta names,” Morgan voices my thoughts.

“Well sweet cheeks, I didn’t get picked up by the FBI sitting around doing nothing! I used my magical technological powers to expose many a yucky corporation back in my hacking days.”

“Any suspicious bank withdrawals or payments?” Rossi steers us back on track.

“Quite a few, but let’s narrow it down using that,” she types away for a few minutes, pulling bank records at a frankly alarming pace, “we’ve still got ten names.”

“Any for 50k or above?” I add.

“Um,” she does some mental math, “none who have moved that much all at once, but two have been transferring money in smaller increments adding up to over fifty-thousand over the past few months.”

“Either have any programming experience?” asks Morgan, but -

“Nope. They wouldn’t necessarily have needed it though - if they put out a contract for the _Black Queen_ Reid could have easily figured out it was me, you all saw his code. I hate to say it, but he might just be on par with me in the hacking department.” 

_Yeah. You said it, Garcia._

“Pull up their pictures,” Hotch orders suddenly, brow furrowed, so she pulls up their DMV photos and two fifty-ish well-dressed white men appear on the screen, “Have you seen either of these men before?”

_Where’re you going with this, Hotch?_

“Uh,” Garcia leans closer to the screen, squinting her eyes as she examines the photos, “maybe? They’re both super average looking - “

“Think back to before we relocated you here for your protection - the contract was already out for at least a month before we knew about it. Both of these men live less than three hours away from DC and they profile as narcissists,” _ohh, I see_ , “Reid likely warned his client not to, but between his resentment and narcissism he wouldn’t’ve been able to resist coming to check on you. He wouldn’t have been afraid of getting caught, it’s likely he got close enough for you to see him. Now, think. Have you seen either of these men before?”

She blinks rapidly and starts to shake her head, “Um - um, I don’t,” then she freezes and her eyes light up, “Wait! Maybe two weeks before I started being holed up here at Quantico? I was out at a café and I saw this man looking at me, I remember because he was overdressed. But I don’t - I don’t remember what he looked like beyond that, he could’ve been either of these men, I don’t - “

Tara cuts her off, gently placing a hand over hers and bending down to her level, “Garcia, take a deep breath,” she does, “Okay, now close your eyes. You’re sitting in the café, it smells like coffee…”

“And fresh pastries,” Garcia continues, “I’m eating a cheese danish…”

“You see a man looking at you, he sticks out…”

“He looks like a businessman on his lunch break, but it’s Sunday why is he working?”

“What did he look like? His hair, his build…”

“He looks like he works-out, but not as much as Derek. His shoulders aren’t too wide. He’s older, but his jawline is still pretty sharp, and his nose is super square. He over-gelled his hair…”

“Open your eyes,” Tara orders, angling her toward the screen, and Garcia does, “Do you see the man?”

Even before she speaks, I can tell it’s the man on the left. She gravitates straight to his picture, eyes flashing with recognition and body turning slightly in that direction.

“This one,” she points to his picture with the fluffy end of a pink feathered pen, “Warren McIntosh, that’s the man. Businessman from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. 57 years old. His now ex-wife filed for divorce just under a year ago, looks like it was nasty.”

“Alert the local field office and tell them it’s urgent they dispatch to the home - make sure they know not to alert him of their presence, and let them know to watch out for Reid. I’ll tell the pilots we need to be in Philadelphia as soon as possible,” Hotch fires off, already lifting his cell out of his pocket and heading out the door.

Garcia starts making the call and the rest of us share tense glances - there’s nothing we can do now except hope Reid doesn’t get there first.

…

We haven’t even gotten on the jet yet - we’re just starting to step onto the runway - when we get the call.

_“This is SSA Steven Li with the Philadelphia field office, am I speaking to SSA Aaron Hotchner with the BAU?”_

“Yes. This is about the Reid/McIntosh case?” all of us are tense - a call right now can only be bad news.

_“It is. We arrived to the residence to find Mr. McIntosh dead - the ME and CSI are enroute as we speak.”_

Hotch takes a deep breath to collect himself, mirroring the same mood as the rest of us, “No sign of Reid?”

_“We’re doing a sweep of the area, but I’d guess this guy’s been dead at least an hour. A professional could be completely off the map in that amount of time.”_

_It’s pointless, he’s gone._

“Keep looking just in case, we’re on our way. And try to leave the crime scene as untouched as possible.”

_“We’ll do our best Agent Hotchner.”_

His eyes sweep over us, seeing our hurt pride - this time doing nothing to stop it, we’re not up against the clock anymore. None of have anything to say; my mind is uncharacteristically blank. 

Wordlessly, we board the plane waiting to take us to the proof of our defeat.

…

_I’m not sure what I expected from the crime scene - I guess I thought it would be more grotesque, but it wasn’t anything like that. Reid’s a poisoner - McIntosh was lying prone on the couch looking all-too peaceful. When the toxicology report came back, we learned he’d overdosed on hydromorphone - the same drug we found in trace amounts on the inside of Reid’s empties. He was taunting us again, wanted to leave every indication that it was him. He also left a note that positively made my blood boil, written in that same scratchy handwriting that had tormented us just over a day before -_

took care of mr. fishie for you, kitty-cat 

_\- complete with a poorly-drawn cat. I wanted to scream, but I didn’t because I knew it’s what Reid wanted. I collected myself and analyzed the crime scene, which told us painfully little. Reid was in and out with the efficiency of a career killer - no trace of him other than the note, not even the fingerprints he needn’t have bothered to hide anymore._

_We filed to have him added to the FBI’s Most Wanted and alerted his mother’s home. We went back for a second walkthrough of his apartment while Garcia combed through his website - desperate for a clue as to where he might be hiding out. When we found nothing, we began the arduous task of trying to decrypt his journal, but no luck._

_Round one was an overwhelming victory for Reid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: extra kudos to you if you know why base 13 is important


	4. part 3: all's quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mrs. reid, we're here to talk about spencer

_“You’d be surprised how many killers do what they do because of their parents.”_

_— Dr. Spencer Reid_

… 

“We’re getting nowhere with this,” JJ throws her papers down on the table and stands up to pace - an uncharacteristically aggressive move for her, and telling of the frustration I know we’re all feeling. 

_I know - no, stop that! You can’t let this guy beat you!_

I flip through the scanned journal pages once again, hoping desperately they will spontaneously gain meaning, “No, he left the journal on purpose. He wants to taunt us with our inability to solve it - he couldn’t do that if he didn’t leave a clue. Maybe I was wrong and we’re chasing our tails with this base 13 thing, but there must be something.”

A constant hum of tension fills the room - we’re all too close to biting each other’s heads off. Suddenly, Hotch stands and stalks over to where Garcia is perched behind her laptop, “Pull up the recording from the restaurant. He might have said something that didn’t seem important at the time, but now that we have more information…”

_Of course! Stupid, stupid -_

She springs into action as we all gather around her, internally berating ourselves for not thinking of it sooner, “You got it, here it is…and go!”

A grainy security camera video of Reid and myself appears on the screen, playing at twice the normal speed. Reid’s just starting to stand and gather his things, sending residual prickles of shame and anger cascading down my spine when -

_I, for one, had a fantastic evening Kitty-Cat. ‘So long, and thanks for all the fish - ‘_

“Oh. My. God,” Garcia pauses the video, “Eugh, I can’t believe I missed this, it’s so obvious! Come on, Penny G, get it together - “

“Garcia,” Hotch says sternly. 

“Oh right, okay. So I’m sure many of you recognized the quote from the nerd classic _The Hitchhiker’s Guide_? I was so preoccupied with trying to find the bombs, then trying to find Reid, it completely slipped my mind until now!”

“That’s the book the ‘42’ thing comes from, right?” Morgan clarifies.

_Indeed it is, Derek Morgan_

“Yup,” she nods, “‘42’ is the answer to the ‘Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything’, so calculated by the supercomputer Deep Thought. There’s this whole thing about Earth being the computer created to figure out what the question is, but then it gets demolished to create an intergalactic bypass before it can finish calculating. The protagonist, Arthur Dent, and his friend escape by hitchhiking on the Vogon’s ship - “ seeing Hotch’s pointed stare, she gets to the point, “…anyway, there’s this whole part about the question being ‘what do you get if you multiply six by nine?,’ which obviously _doesn’t_ equal 42, but _then_ some fans noticed that it actually _does_ equal 42 in base 13!”

“So, what, the numbers six and nine and forty-two are important somehow?” Morgan seems unconvinced that this information is helpful at all. 

_Honestly, he may be right. I’m willing to bet that’s where base 13 comes from, but I’m really not sure where to go from here_

“Well…I haven’t exactly gotten that far yet,” Garcia’s uncertainty is clear on her face, “I’m not even sure what method he used to encode this - we have to deal with both decoding it and translating it to the standard alphabet. He might’ve used the hexadecimal alphabet, or the binary alphabet, or even something like morse code with a binary representation. It’s also possible he made up his own translation key, though I find that less likely considering it sure seems like he doesn’t actually want this to be impossible for us - just really, _really_ difficult. We have to do those things in the right order, too, or else the message will still be gibberish! There are just so many possibilities _ohmygosh_ \- “

“Okay,” Hotch cuts her off, “We’re going to have to start approaching this from another angle. I think we should pay a visit to his mother.”

Rossi nods his agreement, “We can check out his old haunts while we’re there too - I doubt he’ll be there, but we’ll probably be able to talk to the officers who picked him up while he was using. Maybe some of the dealers he used to run with, too.”

_If they’ll even talk to us_

Hotch is once again speaking as he walks out of the room, “I’ll put in a request for the flight - the higher ups want this guy caught as much as we do, so we’ll likely be leaving later today, be prepared. In the meantime, keep working on the journal.”

…

Hotch returns about two hours later, looking like whatever discussion he’s just had has given him a headache, “We’re wheels up in 30. Any progress with the journal?”

_I wish_

“Based on his first puzzle, we think he most likely used another cipher with a keyword?” JJ fills him in, “Garcia’s working on a program that can run through all the possibilities for alphabet conversions, but none of the keywords or phrases we’ve tried so far have worked.”

He purses his lips, “Alright…Tara, you stay here and work on the journal with Garcia - have you read the book?”

“I have,” she replies.

“Good. The rest of us are heading out to Las Vegas - let’s go.”

…

When we touchdown in Las Vegas we immediately split up - Hotch, Morgan, and JJ head to the local PD to interview any officers that might have interacted with Reid, while Rossi and I make the trip to the half-way house to visit his mother. We walk straight up to the front desk and present our badges - they’ve already been warned about Reid, and informed that we’re coming. 

“Ma’am, we’re the agents here to speak to Diana Reid,” Rossi informs her.

She just nods and steps out from behind the desk, beckoning us to follow her down the hallway, “Right this way.”

We’ve barely made it five steps before she’s asking, “Are those things about Spencer really true?”

_It’s hard to believe this man who’s so well liked is the same cocky bastard I met a few days ago_

“You knew him?” Rossi answers with a question, trying to lead her away from an answer she doesn’t want to hear. 

She nods, her brow furrowing a little, “He’s been coming almost every month to visit Diana since he turned 18 - he used to come more often, actually, but he moved out of state a few years ago. I thought he’d been doing well for himself - finally got off the drugs and pulled his life together.”

_Seems like everyone knew he was an addict - not someone who hid it well, then_

“People knew about the drugs?” Rossi inquires..

She looks a little sad and pensive when she replies, “Mm…not in so many words. I’ve been working here since long before he started coming, though. We’re more focused on mental illness and disability, but we get recovering addicts sometimes too when they need somewhere to go after rehab and the half-way houses more catered towards that are all full. He tried to hide it, especially from his mom - I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in short sleeves - but you learn how to spot an addict in this job. He was pretty functional most of the time, but well…I’m sure you know he failed to get custody of his mom?”

_Oh yeah, we know all about that_

“Yep,” I answer, “According to the judge, he turned up to the hearing ‘obviously high on drugs,’ to quote her exactly.”

“He never talked to the staff much,” it’s like she wishes she’d done more ( _maybe if she had, this all could have been prevented - stop that! You know it’s not her fault_ ), “but it was obvious he was having a hard time. He was still using when he petitioned the courts the second time. Obviously, they denied him again. 

He didn’t come in for a while after that - I think it was a few months, actually. Then, he showed up one day skinnier than ever, sweaty and shaking - all of us suspected, _knew_ really, that he was in the beginning stages of withdrawal. After that, it seemed like he was getting better, so we didn’t worry so much anymore. Diana was happy about it, too - she’s always talking about him being too skinny, even now that he’s gained the weight back.”

“And when was this?” Rossi asks her.

She has to think about it, “hmm, I’m not sure…it was probably about 4 or 5 months after the second court hearing? It would’ve been when he was 20 or 21? Something like that.”

_He probably started turning contracts earlier than we thought_

“Thank you, that was very helpful,” Rossi gestures toward the door to our left, which I only now notice we’ve been stopped in front of for most of our conversation, “Is this Diana’s room?”

“Oh!” the orderly remembers why she’s brought us here, “Yes, she’s probably reading - I wouldn’t tell her you’re FBI, though. She’s pretty suspicious of the government.”

_Not surprising_

“Thank you again,” I smile at her, then turn to follow Rossi into the room.

Diana Reid is tall, with short blonde hair. She’s relaxing in bed reading a book, and her head snaps up when she hears the door open.

“Hello Diana,” Rossi greets her.

“You’re not one of the nurses,” she replies, obviously not one for pleasantries. 

_She cuts straight to the point, just like Spencer did_

“No, my name is Dave, and this is my friend Catherine,” he nods in my direction before turning back to face her again, “Can we talk to you for a bit?”

She squints at us suspiciously, but gestures to the small couch across from the bed.

“Diana, we want to ask you a few questions about Spencer,” I ask in a soft voice after seating myself. 

“What do you want with my son?” she snaps, immediately defensive.

“Well, he’s very intelligent, and we’re considering him for a research position.”

It was the first thing that came to mind, and I almost regret saying it. But then the tension melts out of her body, and as much as I hate lying to her I honestly believe it’s better this way. 

_She needs to believe her son is a good person. We can’t tell her who he really is_

She smiles, the motherly fondness clear on her face, “Ah, yes. My Spencer, he’s so gifted. He graduated high school when he was only twelve, did you know that? Caltech offered him a full scholarship, and he studied Psychology. I’m always telling him he should go back and get another degree, but his job takes up so much of his time…well. At least he’s put on some weight these past few years, he was so skinny before! Drinks too much coffee, that one.”

_He lied about completing his undergrad because he didn’t want to upset her, but couldn’t bring himself to lie about graduate degrees like he did to his (former) neighbor_

“Can you tell us about his job?” Rossi continues. 

“Oh, Spencer’s always trying to help people,” _huh?_ , “My perfect baby boy. His job is helping people like me, isn’t he just an angel? He makes sure their awful spouses can’t take advantage of them like William tried to do to me. He writes to me every single day, did you know? Every once in a while, he sends a picture of one of the people he’s helped, too. I’m so proud of him.”

_He doesn’t like lying to his mother - he must really believe he’s helping them_

Rossi meets my eye, alarm flashing in his gaze, “…is there anyway we can see those pictures?” 

She purses her lips, considering us. We must pass some kind of test, because she replies, “You can’t _have_ them, but I guess you can _look_ at them.”

She rises to her feet and steps over to the dresser, pulling out a box and setting it down on the bed. Inside are neat stacks of letters, along with a thick envelope. Diana carefully removes the envelope and tips out a collection of wallet-sized photographs printed on what I think is just regular printer paper, not the glossy kind typically used for pictures. They’re headshots - mostly DMV photos, but there are one or two professionally taken ones as well - of five women and three men.

Rossi and I share another look. _We don’t have records ranging back into his early twenties, we know that he had more victims. But just_ how many _flew under the radar?_

While Diana is distracted with the letters, I covertly snap a few pictures of the photographs. I’ll send them to Garcia once we finish interviewing her.

“Diana, does Spencer ever talk about anywhere he likes to go, or things he likes to do outside of work?” Rossi continues questioning her.

“Why do you need to know that?” she shoots back.

“I’m just trying to get to know him a little better, figure out if he’s a good fit for us.”

She considers us again, then responds, “…he likes it when I read to him. I used to read him all kinds of books when he was little - he loves the classics, just like his mom. And I ask all the time about where he is, but he won’t tell me. I was so worried when he was away for school all those years, and he never came to visit. I wish he’d move back here, but he likes traveling. He says he needs to do it so he can help all those people, so I suppose I can’t fault him too much for it. It does make me worry, though.”

_Does she…not remember he got taken away from her?_

I’m almost ask her about it without thinking, but Rossi cuts me off just as I open my mouth _thank god_.

“Thank you, Diana, that was very helpful. We’ll leave you to your reading now.”

We wait for a moment, but she doesn’t respond. The letters have captured her attention again, and she’s reading through one and smiling fondly. Rossi and I share a glance before taking our leave, waiting until we exit the building to call the team.

“ _Adams, you have me, Garcia, and Lewis_ ,” Morgan’s voice crackles through the speakers.

“Garcia, I’m sending you a couple photographs,” I fire off, “Reid told his mom he ‘saved’ these men and women from their spouses - can you figure out who they are?”

“ _Can I figure out who they are_ ,” she parrots sarcastically, “ - _of course I can, lioness! It might take a while to get IDs back on all of them, but rest assured I will find them!”_

I can’t help but chuckle a little bit, “Thanks Garcia. Other than that, she couldn’t tell us much that we didn’t already know. We did learn more about his history with drugs, though. One of the nurses told us he cleaned up a few months after the second court hearing after dropping off the map for a few months - at least in terms of visiting his mother. Seems to me like he came and visited her right before quitting - I’d guess as motivation to get through withdrawal. I’m assuming that’s about the time he started ‘hitman-ing’ - when we were talking in the restaurant, the way he talked about his job made it seem like it was his motivation to get clean, so I don’t think he did anything else in between.”

“ _That matches up with what we heard over here,_ ” Morgan replies, “ - _that’s about the time he started getting picked up on suspicion of possession. The officers we talked to said he was obviously a junkie - drug-thin and perpetually shaking, all that typical kind of stuff. One of them called him, and I quote, ‘a skinny, snarky little asshole’ - apparently that part of him was the same, at least._

 _Hotch and JJ are still sorting through old LVPD records to see if he may have been involved in anything else, but it’s not looking like we’re gonna find anything. We tried to track down a couple of the guys he used to run with, but only one is left who hasn’t either dropped off the map or OD’ed - he wouldn’t even confirm that he recognized Reid, it’s a dead-end._ ”

_Damnit._

“We’ll meet you at the station,” I hear Rossi say into the phone when it becomes clear I’m not going to respond. He strides to the car with false purpose, beckoning me over when I don’t immediately follow.

We both - we all know that this is in Reid’s hands now. That his case will rest on the back burner, taunting us endlessly, until he decides to make his next move. 

…

_We continued the search for Reid for an additional two weeks, before the order to move on to other cases came from above. Of course, Garcia kept her feelers out - she flagged the system for any appearances of his face on camera, and any suspicious hydromorphone overdoses (though it was unlikely he’d kill in a way so detectable to us during his period of dormancy, if at all) - but nothing appeared._

_The team saw some upheaval during the months following, too. Hotch left the team. He told us all it was because he wanted a change in life - wanted to spend more time with Jack - but we all knew what really happened, even though no one dared speak it aloud. He had been forced into retirement; he was the fall-guy for the FBI’s failure to capture Reid. I felt guilty about it (still do, actually) because maybe Hotch was the one who made the final call, but I was the one in there with Reid. I was the one who couldn’t throw him off his game._

_Morgan left too, but for a much better reason - his newborn son. SSA Luke Alvez from the Fugitive Task Force joined the team in his stead - I’ll admit, I was standoffish (and sometimes outright rude) at first, upset over Morgan’s departure. But Alvez turned out to be a good fit for our team, and he was used to pursuing escaped criminals, so our failure to catch Reid didn’t phase him in the slightest._

_Prentiss returned from Interpol as the new Unit Chief, and while our personalities are known to clash a little, I was grateful (as all of us were) for a familiar face to replace Hotch rather than a stranger. Honestly, I’m not sure if our team could have taken that in the wake of the preceding few months._

_Reid remained completely silent for almost eight months, during which time we both failed to crack his journal and failed to find any sign of him. We entered into the next phase of his ‘game’ like sitting ducks - exactly where he wanted us, and completely unable to anticipate his next move._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realized i miscounted the number of chapter in my outline oops. i accidentally listed part 5 twice. i have increased the chapter count to 8, but my actual plan has not changed - im just dumb and cant count okkk


	5. part 4: #7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kitty-cat, i’m starting to doubt you’re even trying…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this is so late...its the longest chapter yet, so hopefully that makes up for it a little...

_“There are lots of ways that sons defeat their fathers.” — Aaron Hotchner_

… 

When Emily calls us into the conference room instead of Garcia I just _know_ it’s Reid - everything about her demeanor screams _this is bad_ , especially the way she refuses to just come out with it until we’re all seated. 

She takes a breath before she speaks, “As you know we’ve been keeping an eye out for any kills that we think can be attributed to the hitman known as ‘the Doctor’ - aka Spencer Reid,” she turns to Luke and asks, “Alvez, I trust that you’ve familiarized yourself with the case?”

“I have,” he replies with a slight nod.

“Good,” she hands out a set of files to each of us before continuing, allowing us to follow along as she presents the case, “We didn’t know where or when Reid would reappear, but Garcia was notified about these four suspicious deaths just this morning.”

“ _Four!?_ ” I can’t help but to exclaim.

Emily meets my gaze, projecting calm although I can tell she’s just as frustrated with Reid’s ever-growing body count as I am. “Reid is extremely intelligent and likes to flaunt it,” she replies, “he crossed state lines because he knew it would make it more difficult for us to put things together.”

I swallow my pride and frustration because it isn’t going to help us right now, trying my best to view this with the distance of a ‘normal’ case.

Luke flips through the files and sighs, “This is the MO we were looking for - hydromorphone overdose. And he did a real good job of staging suicides - the first three weren’t even flagged as suspicious.”

“But the fourth was,” Garcia interjects, “And it seems like he’s getting impatient because if you flip to the last page you’ll see he left another note with the most recent kill - it’s what convinced the local PD in that area to contact VICAP, who contacted me once they realized it was Reid”

We all stare down at the message, infuriated by his obvious taunt (though we try not to be because it’s what he wants). Rossi is the one who finally manages to read it out loud. 

“‘ _a fifth fishy just for you, kitty-cat_ ,’” he recites with a heavy sigh. 

Emily gives a solemn nod, “Which is how we knew to look for three additional kills.”

_He’s practically hand feeding us his own case - fuck, I hate this!_

We all flip through the case files, and _wait_ \- 

“Hold on, he’s picked up a secondary MO - these guys are all lawyers,” Tara says what I’m sure we’re all thinking right now.

“Yep,” Garcia nods, “I was getting to that - he picked while male lawyers in their late-fifties-early-sixties - about how old his own father would be if he were still alive.”

“Sounds like someone’s still angry at his ‘daddy’, despite how much he denied it back in the restaurant,” JJ comments needlessly - Reid’s daddy issues are blatantly obvious and have been from the start.

Garcia starts pulling up files on her laptop, telling us, “I looked more into the four of them and they have something else in common too - they weren’t just lawyers, they were _shady_ lawyers. Look, this one’s gotten multiple guys off who had tons of evidence against them. And this one has been accused of sexual harassment and assault multiple times, but has never been charged. Presumably because he’s well established in the field.”

“That’s weird - “ Luke voices our collective confusion, “I thought you guys profiled Reid as a psychopath. And I saw the recording of him talking to Cat, it certainly seemed like that was true. But a psychopath wouldn’t _care_ enough to only target people who are ‘bad guys,’ for lack of a better term. It took him extra time and effort to pick out these guys and reassure himself that they’d done something wrong - that shows that at least some, albeit misguided, part of him considers morality and shows consideration for other people.”

“It could be for the added challenge?” JJ suggests, but I can tell by her tone that she doesn’t believe it - I have to agree, ever since I spoke to his (former) neighbor all those months ago I’ve been doubting our initial profile.

“I’m not so sure,” Luke continues, “that could have been true when he was picking contracts, but that isn’t his challenge anymore - _we’re_ his challenge now. He said so himself back when Adams spoke to him. I think he _needs_ to make sure they’re ‘guilty’ for whatever reason.” 

I add in my own agreement, “Yeah - other than the confrontation in the restaurant, nothing about him really reads as ‘psychopath.’ I think a lot of what we saw was a very well constructed facade. He probably even believes some parts of it himself - that’s why we weren’t able to pick up on it during a high-stakes situation - we didn’t have _time_ to reconsider our assumptions.”

_You should have picked up on it anyway. No, you’ve watched that video over and over and you still can’t identify his tells. All the more reason to call yourself incompetent_ -

“Garcia,” Luke’s voice breaks me out of my spiral, “I know it’s a long list, but can you go through the rest of his records and see if that pattern holds true for the rest of his victims?”

“Ohmygosh, you’re asking a lot, newbie, that is not a short list of names,” she frets, already starting to run searches on her computer.

“So are you saying you can’t do it?” he asks with a raised brow and a slight smirk.

“Of course I can do it, who do you think you’re talking to!?” she scoffs, typing more furiously, “It’s going to take me a lot of time and many, _many_ pots of coffee, though, so you’ll have to be patient!”

“Thank you, Garcia, you’re a godsend,” Luke replies, betraying his fondness of her despite their banter. 

“That’s - I-I’m just doing my job, newbie!” she blushes and hurries off - presumably to her office so she can run her searches on a computer with a faster hard-drive.

“Okay,” Prentiss refocuses us, “I think our best plan of action is trying to figure out where Reid is going to hit next, and how he’s getting around.”

“He’s a wanted fugitive, it can’t be easy,” JJ adds.

“Nah,” Luke shakes his head and I’m reminded of his years with the Fugitive Task Force, “you’d be surprised how easy it is to get around as a fugitive if you’ve got connections - I know he profiles as a loner, but being part of the black market/contract killer world? He definitely has contacts to help him with traveling under the radar.”

“Okay,” Prentiss sighs, “then we focus on finding his next target - he must have a list, there’s not enough time in between these kills for him not to have a plan.”

“He’s Reid, _of course_ he has a plan,” I can barely stop myself from rolling my eyes, “There’s over seven months between him dropping off the map and the first dead lawyer - that’s a lot of time to come up with a hit list.”

“These kills are from all over,” JJ looks half-way to throwing in the towel, “Washington, New York, Florida, and then California. His next target could _literally_ be anywhere.”

_No, we can’t give up - and there is a pattern, we just haven’t found it yet_

“But it’s _not_ random,” I shoot back, “We don’t know how many kills he has planned before reaching his end game, but he didn’t need to travel so far to find shady lawyers - those guys are practically everywhere.”

“It could just be his way of toying with us, though,” Luke continues, “calculated randomness, or a false avenue of investigation because he wants to watch us chase our tails.”

Sensing the tension in the room, Rossi steers us in a different direction, “Well leaving the note says something, at least - _I’m desperate for attention and recognition_. He didn’t include it in the first three kills, so I think it was an impulse. It wasn’t part of his original plan - he was mad that we didn’t notice his ‘work,’ and so he made _sure_ we would find it.”

“He’s like a child throwing a tantrum,” I spit out, “he’s insanely intelligent, but not emotionally developed _at all_.”

“That’s not surprising, though - we’ve all read his history,” JJ comments. 

Tara gives a somber shake of the head, muttering, “If the kid wasn’t a contract killer, I’d feel bad for him. He really got the short end of the stick in life.”

“Lots of people do and don’t turn out to be killers,” I reply, partially because it’s true and partially to try and separate myself from Reid. To convince myself that we are in no way alike, though the thought has been perpetually invading my mind since Garcia first pulled up his picture all those months ago.

…

“So we’re looking for a while male lawyer in his late-fifties-early-sixties who’s done some questionable or outright wrong things in the past. And this guy could be literally anywhere across the whole US - this is impossible,” JJ plops back down in her chair in a huff, the frustration obvious on her face.

“Reid doesn’t want it to be _impossible_ , just extremely difficult,” I argue for what feels like the thousandth time, “There must be _something_ we can do other than wait for him to resurface.”

“Maybe he left a clue in the notebook,” Luke opens a file I know contains copied pages of Reid’s notebook and I usually get along well with Alvez, but the simple action infuriates me.

“Yeah we already know that, it’s just not _helpful_ ,” I scoff, “Because we’ve been trying to crack his damn notebook for the past eight months, and where has that gotten us? _Nowhere_.”

“Okay,” Tara interjects, positioning herself so that I’m forced to look at her instead of Alvez, “I know we really want to catch this guy, but fighting with each other isn’t going to help,” she says pointedly, making sure to hold my gaze.

I relent, letting a frustrated sigh escape, “I know. I’m sorry, I just…”

_I should have known, I should have called his bluff -_

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Tara knows, of course she does. She’s always been the best at reading me, “None of us saw it, it wasn’t just you.”

“But I was the one there with him,” I reply, unable to look at any of my teammates anymore ( _because I’m ashamed. Ashamed of my catastrophic failure_ ), “I was the one talking to him, I should have been able to tell that he was bluffing.”

“We all should have been able to tell,” she continues, “It’s on all of us that we didn’t. Now, I need you to focus because you’re the one of us that understands Reid the best - “

“That’s not true - “ I bite back instinctively.

But the rushed reply betrays me. And besides, I’ve never been able to get a lie past Tara.

She leans forward and captures my full attention - she has a certain way of making you forget about the other people in the room, “Catherine. Don’t try to tell me you haven’t noticed how similar your stories are, because I know you have.”

I sigh and stare down at my hands when I admit it, “…I keep thinking about it, you know. I got lucky in foster and he didn’t - that’s the only difference between us. I keep thinking that I could have been him - that _he_ could be sitting here, in this conference room, talking with all of you and trying to profile _me_ \- that’s how similar I feel like we are.”

“Cat,” she replies, “there’s a reason why you’re _here_ and not wherever he is - you’re a good person. Reid’s not. He uses killing people as a means to fuel his own ego and to try to mediate his own shortcomings, however misguided that may be. I know you, Cat, you’re not like that. Not at all.”

“I know,” is what I tell her, but really I’m not so sure. 

_I used to fantasize about killing my father in graphic detail. And I’ve never felt bad about it - living with the Stevens taught me a lighter side of life and I learned not to dwell on those thoughts anymore. They faded away. But still today, I’m not sure what I would do if I ever saw him again. If I found him and I had a gun on my belt._

…

Garcia comes rushing back into the conference room, her brow furrowed and lips tight - it’s obvious there’s been another victim. 

“Robert Smith, 56, from Portland, Oregon - he was a corporate lawyer who helped a few companies scam their customers. He was found a few hours ago by his maid. It’s just like the others, they put the preliminary time of death at almost 24 hours ago - Reid knew he would be alone for quite a while,” she says, grabbing the remote and projecting the preliminary case reports up on the screen.

“He stuck to the southwest this time,” Rossi notes, “he could be zeroing on his final target.”

“And the note?” I ask, taking care to keep my voice steady.

“‘ _This one flopped around like a fish out of water, kitten_ ,’” Garcia reads, grimacing as she forces the words out.

Luke sucks in a breath before saying, “Okay, I know reading them sucks but we have to profile his notes. I think the important ones are the first and the third - he left the second one on a whim, but he put thought into the other two.”

“Pull them all up anyway,” Emily says looking towards Garcia. The notes appear on screen, scratchy handwriting and all.

“Okay,” Emily continues, “so we have ‘ _took care of mr. fishy for you, kitty-cat_ ,’ _‘a fifth fishy just for you, kitty-cat_ ,’ and ‘ _this one flopped around like a fish out of water, kitten_.’”

“He could have addressed the whole team,” Rossi adds, “he’s made it clear he knows who all of us are. But he didn’t, he only addresses Adams even though he claims to be ‘playing’ with all of us - why?”

“I was the one who talked to him face to face,” I reply, furrowing my brow as I try to think of another reason.

“I think it’s more than that,” Tara squints at the screen, and then turns to address me, “I think he sees the same thing that you do.”

“What do you mean?” I ask even though I’m already starting to understand.

“Okay, bear with me,” she continues, gesturing with her hands as she speaks, “Everything about him in the restaurant read as confident and egotistical, but everything we’ve learned about his personal life since then says otherwise. He lied about his education to his neighbor - he had no reason to do that other than to mitigate a personal insecurity. He kept reminders of what the drugs cost him, which means he feels bad about it. He regrets it. His life hasn’t gone the way he wanted it to.”

“And?” I ask even though I already know. I don’t want to admit it.

_See? You’re two sides of the same coin_

“You told me before that you saw the similarities between your pasts and were afraid you could have been him, if things had gone differently for you - ”

_Well, I didn’t use the word ‘afraid’ exactly, but yes_

“ - He sees the same thing when he looks at _you_. He sees how differently his life could have gone. He’s playing with all of us, but he’s angry at you. He _envies_ you, though probably not consciously, and he’s trying to bury it by addressing you directly, by making you feel personally responsible for his kills.”

I’m not sure what to say. I can’t deny it because I think she’s right, but I don’t want to acknowledge our similarities either. 

“Okay, and what about the rest of what he said in the notes?” is what I ends up coming out, neither an outright denial or acceptance.

Luke jumps in this time, sensing my need to change the topic, “Well, I think with the first and second ones he just wanted to make sure we knew about his kills, that he’d bested us. But the third one is different - he describes the victim beyond just acknowledging them.”

“Maybe he’s going back to the coast because he mentions water?” JJ suggests. 

“Or away from it - ‘fish out of water’ implies somewhere dry, or at least on land,” I shoot back.

“He’s talking about Vegas,” Rossi says, eyes wide with the revelation as he walks over to the map, “That’s what he’s zeroing in on.”

_Oh my god, or course! That was so obvious how did we not realize -_

“That would certainly make sense, especially if he’s reaching the end of his list,” Prentiss agrees.

“‘Fish’ and ‘flop’ are both part of poker slang,” Rossi continues, “And look, if we zoom out and look at the whole map? Washington, New York, Florida, California, Oregon…it’s a clockwise spiral leading to Nevada - it’s gotta be Vegas.”

“I’ll notify LVPD,” Prentiss says, already pulling out her phone, “Garcia, can you pull up a list of lawyers in Vegas?”

“Focus on any that might’ve had a connection with his father,” Luke adds before she can even start typing. It’s barely been five minutes when -

“Got it!” Garcia exclaims, pulling up a DMV photo on her laptop, “Hudson Greene - he and William Reid worked for the same law firm for a number of years before Reid Sr. was arrested.”

“And you’re sure he’s our guy?” Rossi asks, just to be sure.

_Yeah, he’s our guy alright_

“He ticks all the boxes - white, late fifties, shady lawyer…” she trails off because it’s already obvious.

“Okay,” Prentiss addresses all of us, “I’ll see if I can get the pilots prepped for immediate departure - wheels up in thirty.”

…

The air on the plane tense and stagnant. I’m sitting across from Tara, both of us unable to occupy ourselves with any idle tasks as we wait. She cuts the silence with, “This reminds me too much of the last time we did this.”

_Yeah, you can say that again_

“I know,” I sigh, keeping my gaze fixed on the window, “I keep feeling like LVPD is going to call any second and tell us Reid’s already gotten to him.”

Just then, Prentiss comes back from back of the plane where she had been taking a call, announcing, “They’ve gotten Greene into protective custody, officers are taking him back to the station now.”

“Good, good,” Luke mutters, but the reassurance falls flat.

“I don’t know, I have a bad feeling about this. It’s too easy,” I say, and from the tension on the others’ faces they’re all feeling the same thing.

“Easy? Nothing about this has been easy,” Tara replies.

“Still, I don’t know…,” I trail off, trying to collect my thoughts, “This isn’t his endgame - he said ‘I hope we can do this again someday,’ this is gonna end with another standoff between me and him. That’s what he wants.”

“Well then we’ll have to do our best not to play into that. We will catch him before it comes to that,” Prentiss says with confidence I know is false - she hasn’t interacted with Reid (yet), but even she understands just how slippery he’s been.

_The unspoken, ‘at least, I hope we do,’ is practically tangible_   
  


…

The LVPD Chief comes over to us as soon as we enter the station, introducing himself and stretching out a hand in greeting. Emily introduces us briefly, just to be polite, before getting straight to business, “I’m Unit Chief Prentiss, these are SSAs Rossi, Alvez, Lewis, Jareau, and Adams - we’ll need to speak to Mr. Greene right away.”

The Chief nods, gesturing to the left, “Of course, follow me - he’s in one of our interview rooms.”

He dismisses the officer guarding the door before knocking on it, calling “Mr. Greene? Mr. Greene?,” when there’s no response. He pushes open the door and -

“Shit!” he exclaims rushing over to the limp body of Hudson Greene. None of us are as surprised as we really should be, too jaded by this case to really react. 

Rossi is the one who breaks first, stepping over to Mr. Greene and plucking the note off of his body. He reads, “‘ _fishy #7, kitty-cat - i’m starting to doubt you’re even trying…_ ’ - how the _hell_ did he get in here!?”

We all turn to the Chief with contempt in our eyes and he sputters under our glares, “I - I don’t - we had him under guard!”

_It sure doesn’t seem like it, idiot_

“We’re gonna need to see the security tapes, right now,” Emily barks out, already storming out of the room and expecting him to follow.

“Y - yeah, of course,” he trails behind, leading us over to the server room.

As soon as we gain access to them, Luke’s picking up his phone and calling, “Garcia - “ 

She interrupts him, _“Guys! Once Rossi mentioned poker I started looking at casinos in the area and I found something I think you need to see - “_

Emily jumps in, all business, “That’s gonna have to wait, Garica - Reid was _here_. I’m sending the security tapes over now, I need you to track his movements as far as you can.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other side of the line before she exclaims, _“W - what!? What do you mean ‘he was here?’ Like he was in the police station!? How - “_

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out - just track him, okay Garcia?” I jump in, unable to take her shock any longer.

_He was here. He was right here and these_ idiots _missed him_

“O - okay. I’m on it,” there’s a pause in which we can only hear the tapping of her nails against the keyboard before -

_“Um, he literally just walked into the station,”_ she says tentatively, knowing we’re not going to like it any more than she does.

“He _what_ ,” Emily deadpans, clearly knowing what she means but unwilling to accept it until she hears more.

_“He just walked in and acted like he was supposed to be there!”_ she types some more and a video pops up on a nearby monitor, drawing out attention to it, _“Watch, he comes in at 1:43pm - that’s him right?”_

_Yep, that’s Spencer Reid alright. A little more unkempt than he was before, but still_

“His hair is a lot longer and he’s let some scruff grow in, but yeah. That’s definitely him,” I reply, knowing I’m the best one to identify him.

_That’s the problem with putting out wanted photos, no matter how necessary it is - his photo from eight months ago put such a specific image of him in the officers’ minds that they didn’t realize it was him. They were looking out for a ‘subdued TA’ type guy, and he doesn’t fit that description anymore, so he was able to walk right by them_

Garcia’s voice crackles over the phone speaker, “ _He walked in and talked to the office guarding Mr. Greene, then the officer goes to eat lunch and Reid slips inside the interview room - presumably to make the kill - and then he comes back out and waits until the officer comes back. He chats with the officer for a while, then calmly exits the building._ ”

“And the officer didn’t think to check on Greene?” Luke asks in disbelief.

_“It looks like he did,”_ she replies, _“but Reid started talking as soon as he went to look and it distracted him. He just went back to standing guard after Reid walked away.”_

“I bet if we ask him, he won’t even realize he didn’t actually end up checking - we know that Reid is a master at sleight of hand, which relies almost entirely on misdirection,” I note, shaking my head as I try to digest all of this.

_“Which leads me to the other thing I found - I just want to say that I really, really hate this guy, okay?”_

“Yeah, join the club. What did you find?” Emily prompts her.

We hear her take a deep breath over the line before continuing, _“Last night, he went around to a bunch of casinos and played poker and blackjack - or, I’m guessing he cheated based on how much money he walked away with. But that’s not the worst part - he wanted us to find this. Here, I’m sending the video to your phones. Just watch - ”_

…

_What Garcia found was footage of Reid looking directly into the security cameras and giving them a sly smile and infuriating little wave. Obviously, he’d gone out gambling (although, as Garcia pointed out, it’s more likely he was counting cards) the night before as a means to plant those videos for us to find. And even more infuriating was the way he just walked out and disappeared into the night, slipping into the crowded streets and evading even Penelope Garcia’s watchful eye._

_I wanted to strangle him, I really did. But more than that, I wanted to catch him. To be the one to cuff him and book him and watch him face a jury in chains. I wanted to see the man who had humiliated me so deeply back in that restaurant shoved into a six-by-eight concrete cell and left to rot._


End file.
